Or, if with caution leisurely were past,
Their numerous gross might charge us one by one.
But with a fore-wind pushing them above,

And swelling tide that heaved them from below, O'er the blind flats our warlike squadrons move, And with spread sails to welcome battle go.

It seem'd as there the British Neptune stood,
With all his hosts of waters at command,
Beneath them to submit th' officious flood,

And with his trident shoved them off the sand.*

To the pale foes they suddenly draw near,

And summon them to unexpected fight:
They start like murderers when ghosts appear,
And draw their curtains in the dead of night.

Now van to van the foremost squadrons meet,
The midmost battles hastening up behind;
Who view far off the storm of falling sleet,
And hear their thunder rattling in the wind.

At length the adverse admirals appear,

The two bold champions of each country's right; Their eyes describe the lists as they come near, And draw the lines of death before they fight.

The distance judged for shot of every size,
The linstocks touch, the ponderous ball expires;
The vigorous seamen every porthole plies,

And adds his heart to every gun he fires.

Fierce was the fight on the proud Belgians' side, For honour, which they seldom sought before; But now they by their own vain boasts were tied,

And forced, at least in show, to prize it more.

But sharp remembrance on the English part,
And shame of being match'd by such a foe,
Rouse conscious virtue up in every heart,

And seeming to be stronger makes them so.t

Nor long the Belgians could that fleet sustain Which did two generals' fates and Cæsar's bear; Each several ship a victory did gain,

As Rupert or as Albemarle were there.

Their batter'd admiral too soon withdrew,
Unthank'd by ours for his unfinish'd fight:
But he the minds of his Dutch masters knew,
Who call'd that Providence which we call'd
Flight:

Never did men more joyfully obey,

Or sooner understood the sign to fly: With such alacrity they bore away,

As if to praise them all the States stood by.

O famous Leader of the Belgian fleet!
Thy monument inscribed such praise shall wear,
As Varro, timely flying, once did meet,

Because he did not of his Rome despair.

Behold that navy which, a while before,

Provoked the tardy English close to fight, Now draw their beaten vessels close to shore, As larks lie dared to shun the hobbies' flight.

Whoe'er would English monuments survey,
In other records may our courage know;
But let them hide the story of this day,
Whose fame was blemish'd by too base a foe.

Or if too busily they will inquire
Into a victory which we disdain,
Then let them know the Belgians did retire
Before the patron saint of injured Spain.
Repenting England this revengeful day

To Philip's manes did an off ring bring; England, which first by leading them astray, Hatch'd up rebellion to destroy her King.

Our fathers bent their baneful industry

To check a monarchy that slowly grew;

But did not France or Holland's fate foresee,
Whose rising power to swift dominion flew.
In Fortune's empire blindly thus we go,
And wander after pathless Destiny;
Whose dark resorts since Prudence cannot know,
In vain it would provide for what shall be.

But whate'er English to the bless'd shall go,
And the fourth Harry or first Orange meet,
Find him disowning of a Bourbon foe,

And him detesting a Batavian fleet.

Now on their coasts our conquering navy rides,
Waylays their merchants, and their land besets;
Each day new wealth without their care provides;
They lie asleep with prizes in their nets.

So close behind some promontory lie
The huge leviathans to attend their prey,
And give no chase, but swallow in the fry,
Which through their gaping jaws mistake the

[way.

Nor was this all; in ports and roads remote
Destructive fires among whole fleets we send;
Triumphant flames upon the waters float,
And outbound ships at home their voyage end.
Those various squadrons variously design'd,
Each vessel freighted with a several load,
Each squadron waiting for a several wind,

All find but one to burn them in the road.

Some bound for Guinea, golden sand to find,
Bore all the gaudes the simple natives wear;
Some for the pride of Turkish courts design'd,
For folded turbans finest holland bear.
Some English wool, vex'd in a Belgian loom,
And into cloth of spungy softness made,
Did into France or colder Denmark doom,
To ruin with worse ware our staple trade.

Our greedy seamen rummage every hold,

Smile on the booty of each wealthier chest; And as the priests, who with their gods make bold,

Take what they like, and sacrifice the rest.

But, ah! how unsincere are all our joys!
Which, sent from Heaven, like lightning make

no stay ;

Their palling taste the journey's length destroys, Or Grief, sent post, o'ertakes them on the way.

[cross,

Swell'd with our late successes on the foe,
Which France and Holland wanted power to
We urge an unseen fate to lay us low,

And feed their envious eyes with English loss.

Each element his dread command obeys,
Who makes or ruins with a smile or frown;
Who, as by one he did our nation raise,

So now he with another pulls us down.

Yet, London, Empress of the Northern clime,
By a high fate thou greatly didst expire;
Great as the world's which, at the death of Time,
Must fall, and rise a nobler frame by fire.

As when some dire usurper Heaven provides
To scourge his country with a lawless sway,
His birth perhaps some petty village hides,
And sets his cradle out of Fortune's way:

Till fully ripe, his swelling fate breaks out,
And hurries him to mighty mischiefs on:
His prince, surprised at first, no ill could doubt,
And wants the power to meet it when 'tis
known.

Such was the rise of this prodigious fire,

Which in mean buildings first obscurely bred, From thence did soon to open streets aspire, And straight to palaces and temples spread.

The diligence of Trade, and noiseful Gain,
And Luxury, more late, asleep were laid:

"levat ipse tridenti, Et vastas aperit syrtes." &c. +"Possunt, quia posse videntur." VIRG.

VIRG.

Quum mare, quum tellus, correptaque regia coll Ardeat," &c. OVID.

All was the night's, and, in her silent reign,
No sound the rest of Nature did invade.

In this deep quiet, from what source unknown,
Those seeds of fire their fatal birth disclose;
And, first, few scattering sparks about were blown,
Big with the flames that to our ruin rose.

Then in some close-pent room it crept along,
And mouldering as it went, in silence fed;
Till th' infant monster, with devouring strong,
Walk'd boldly upright with exalted head.
Now, like some rich or mighty murderer, [gold;
Too great for prison, which he breaks with
Who fresher for new mischiefs does appear,
And dares the world to tax him with the old:

So 'scapes th' insulting fire his narrow jail,
And makes small outlets into open air;
There the fierce winds his tender force assail,
And beat him downward to his first repair.

The winds, like crafty courtezans, withheld
His flames from burning, but to blow them

more;

And every fresh attempt he is repell'd

With faint denials, weaker than before.

And now, no longer letted of his prey,
He leaps up at it with enraged desire!
O'erlooks the neighbours with a wide survey,
And nods at every house his threatening fire.

The ghosts of traitors from the bridge descend,.
With bold fanatic spectres to rejoice,

About the fire into a dance they bend,

And sing their sabbath notes with feeble voice. Our guardian angel saw them where they sate Above the palace of our slumbering King; He sigh'd, abandoning his charge to Fate,

And, drooping, oft look'd back upon the wing.

At length the crackling noise and dreadful blaze
Call'd up some waking lover to the sight;
And long it was ere he the rest could raise,
Whose heavy eyelids yet were full of night.
The next to danger, hot pursued by Fate,
Half-clothed, half-naked, hastily retire;
And frighted mothers strike their breasts too late,
For helpless infants left amidst the fire.

Their cries soon waken all the dwellers near;
Now murmuring noises rise in every street:
The more remote run stumbling with their fear,
And in the dark men justle as they meet.

So weary bees in little cells repose,

But if night-robbers lift the well-stored hive, A humming through their waxen city grows, And out upon each other's wings they drive. Now streets grow throng'd and busy as by day; Some run for buckets to the hallow'd quire; Some cut the pipes, and some the engines play, And some, more bold, mount ladders to the fire.

In vain; for from the east a Belgian wind,

His hostile breath through the dry rafters sent: The flames impell'd, soon left their foes behind, And forward, with a wanton fury, went.

A key of fire ran all along the shore,
And lighten'd all the river with a blaze;t
The waken'd tides began again to roar,

And wondering fish in shining waters gaze.

Old father Thames raised up his reverend head,
But fear'd the fate of Simois would return;
Deep in his ooze he sought his sedgy bed,
And shrunk his waters back into his urn.

The fire, meantime, walks in a broader gross,
To either hand his wings he opens wide:
He wades the streets, and straight he reaches cross,
And plays his longing flames on th' other side.
*Like crafty, &c.] "Hac arte tractabat cupidum
virum, ut illius animum inopia accenderet."
"Sigæa igni freta lata relucent." VIRG.

At first they warm, then scorch, and then they take, Now with long necks from side to side they feed; At length, grown strong, their mother fire forsake, And a new colony of flames succeed.

To every nobler portion of the Town

The curling billows roll their restless tide; In parties now they struggle up and down, As armies, unopposed, for prey divide.

One mighty squadron, with a side-wind sped,

Through narrow lanes his cumber'd fire does By powerful charms of gold and silver led, [haste, The Lombard bankers and the 'Change to waste.

Another backward to the Tower would go,

And slowly eats his way against the wind; But the main body of the marching foe

Against th' imperial palace is design'd.

Now day appears, and with the day the King,
Whose early care had robb'd him of his rest.
Far off the cracks of falling houses ring,
And shrieks of subjects pierce his tender breast.

Near as he draws, thick harbingers of smoke,
With gloomy pillars, cover all the place,
Whose little intervals of night are broke

By sparks that drive against his sacred face.

More than his guards his sorrows made him known, And pious tears which down his cheeks did shower:

The wretched in his grief forgot their own;
So much the pity of a king has power!

He wept the flames of what he loved so well,
And what so well had merited his love;
For never prince in grace did more excel,
Or royal city more in duty strove.

Nor with an idle care did he behold;

(Subjects may grieve, but monarchs must redress) He cheers the fearful, and commends the bold, And makes despairers hope for good success.

Himself directs what first is to be done,
And orders all the succours which they bring
The helpful and the good about him run,
And form an army worthy such a king.

He sees the dire contagion spread so fast,
That where it seizes, all relief is vain,
And therefore must unwillingly lay wasie
That country which would else the foe maintain.

The powder blows up all before the fire:
Th' amazed flames stand gather'd on a heap,
And from the precipice's brink retire,
Afraid to venture on so large a leap.

Thus fighting fires a while themselves consume,
But straight, like Turks, forced on to win or die,
They first lay tender bridges of their fume,

And o'er the breach in unctuous vapours fly.

Part stay for passage till a gust of wind

Ships o'er their forces in a shining sheet;
Part creeping under ground, their journey blind,
And climbing from below, their fellows meet.

Thus to some desert plain, or old wood side,
Dire night-hags come from far to dance their
round,

And o'er broad rivers on their fiends they ride,
Or sweep in clouds above the blasted ground.

No help avails; for, hydra-like, the fire

Lifts up his hundred heads to aim his way;
And scarce the wealthy can one half retire
Before he rushes in to share the prey.

The rich grow suppliant, and the poor grow proud
Those offer mighty gain, and these ask mole:
So void of pity is th' ignoble crowd,
When others ruin may increase their store!

As those who live by shores with joy behold
Some wealthy vessel split or stranded nigh,
And from the rocks leap down for shipwreck'd
gold,
And seek the tempests which the others fly:

That if their ruins sadly they regard, 'Tis but with fear the sight might drive him thence.

But so may he live long that Town to sway, Which by his auspice they will nobler make, As he will hatch their ashes by his stay,

And not their humble ruins now forsake.

They have not lost their loyalty by fire;

Nor is their courage or their wealth so low,
That from his wars they poorly would retire,
Or beg the pity of a vanquish'd foe.

Not with more constancy the Jews of old,
By Cyrus from rewarded exile sent,
Their royal city did in dust behold,

Or with more vigour to rebuild it went.

The utmost malice of the stars is past,

And two dire comets, which have scourged the Town,

In their own plague and fire have breathed their last,

Or dimly in their sinking sockets frown.

Now frequents trines the happier lights among, And high-raised Jove from his dark prison freed,

(Those weights took off that on his planet hung)
Will gloriously the new-laid works succeed."

Methinks already, from this chymic flame,
I see a city of more precious mould,
Rich as the town which gives the Indies name,
With silver paved, and all divine with gold.

Already, labouring with a mighty fate,

She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow, And seems to have renew'd her charter's date, Which Heaven will to the death of Time allow.

More great than human, now, and more august,
New deified, she from her fires does rise;
Her widening streets on new foundations trust,
And, opening, into larger parts she flies.

Before, she like some shepherdess did show,
Who sate to bathe her by a river's side;
Not answering to her fame, but rude and low,
Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride.

Now, like a maiden queen, she will behold,

From her high turrets, hourly suitors come: The East with incense, and the West with gold, Will stand like suppliants to receive her doom.

The silent Thames, her own domestic flood, Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train; And often wind, as of his mistress proud,

With longing eyes to meet her face again.

The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine, The glory of their towns no more shall boast, And Seine, that would with Belgian rivers join, Shall find her lustre stain'd and traffic lost.

The venturous merchant, who design'd more far,
And touches on our hospitable shore,
Charm'd with the splendour, of this Northern
star,

Shall here unlade him, and depart no more.

Our powerful navy shall no longer meet,

The wealth of France or Holland to invade ;
The beauty of this Town, without a fleet,
From all the world shall vindicate her trade.
And while this famed emporium we prepare,
The British ocean shall such triumphs boast,
That those who now disdain our trade to share,
Shall rob, like pirates, on our wealthy coast.

Already we have conquer'd half the war,

And the less dangerous part is left behind;
Our trouble now is but to make them dare,
And not so great to vanquish as to find.

Thus to the Eastern wealth through storms we go,
But now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more;
A constant trade-wind will securely blow,
And gently lay us on the spicy shore.

BRITANNIA REDIVIVA:

A POEM ON THE PRINCE,

BORN JUNE 10th, 1688.

OUR VOWS are heard by times, and Heaven taker
To grant before we can conclude the prayer; care
Preventing angels met it half the way,
And sent us back to praise who came to pray.

Just on the day when the high-mounted sun
Did farthest in its northern progress run,
He bended forward, and even stretch'd the sphere
Beyond the limits of the lengthen'd year,
To view a brighter sun in Eritain born;
That was the business of his longest morn;
The glorious object seen, 'twas time to turn.

Departing Spring could only stay to shed
Her gloomy beauties on the genial bed,
But left the manly Summer in her stead,
With timely fruit the longing land to cheer,
And to fulfil the promise of the year.
Betwixt two seasons comes th' auspicious heir,
This age to blossom, and the next to bear.

Last solemn Sabbath saw the church attend,
The Paraclet in fiery pomp descend;
But when his wondrous octave roll'd again,
He brought a royal infant in his train.
So great a blessing to so good a King
None but th' eternal Comforter could bring.
Or did the mighty Trinity conspire,
As once in council, to create our sire?
It seems as if they sent the new-born guest
To wait on the procession of their feast,
And on their sacred anniverse decreed
To stamp their image on the promised seed.
Three realms united, and on one bestow'd,
An emblem of their mystic union show'd;
The mighty Trine the triple empire shared,
As every person would have one to guard.
Hail Son of prayers! by holy violence
Drawn down from heaven; but long be banish'd
thence,

And late to thy paternal skies retire:
To mend our crimes whole ages would require
To change th' inveterate habit of our sins,
And finish what thy godlike sire begins.
Kind Heaven, to make us Englishmen again,
No less can give us than a patriarch's reign.

The sacred cradle to your charge receive,
Ye Seraphs! and by turns the guard relieve,
Thy father's angel and thy father join
To keep possession, and secure the line;
But long defer the honours of thy fate;
Great may they be like his, like his be late,
That James his running century may view,
And give this son an auspice to the new.

Our wants exact at least that moderate stay;
For see the Dragon winged on his way
To watch the travail and devour the prey.
Or, if allusions may not rise so high,
Thus, when Alcides raised his infant-cry,
The snakes besieged his young divinity;
But vainly with their forked tongues they threat,
For opposition makes a hero great.
To needful succour all the good will run,
And Jove assert the godhead of his son.

[feed;

O still repining at your present state, Grudging yourselves the benefits of Fate, Look up, and read, in characters of light, A blessing sent you in your own despight. The manna falls, yet that celestial bread, Like Jews, you munch, and murmur while you May not your fortune be like theirs, exiled, Yet forty years to wander in the wild? Or if it be, may Moses live at least To lead you to the verge of promised rest. Though poets are not prophets, to foreknow What plants will take the blight, and what will

The moon grows pale at that presaging sight,
And half her train of stars have lost their light.
Behold another Sylvester, to bless
The sacred standard, and secure success;
Large of his treasures, of a soul so great,
As fills and crowds his universal seat.

Now view at home a second Constantine;
(The former too was of the British line)
Has not his healing balm your breaches closed,
Whose exile many sought, and few opposed?
O! did not Heaven, by its eternal doom,
Permit those evils that this good might come?
So manifest, that even the moon-eyed sects
See whom and what this Providence protects.
Methinks, had we within our minds no more
Than that one shipwreck on the fatal ore,
That only thought may make us think again
What wonders God reserves for such a reign.
To dream that chance his preservation wrought,
Were to think Noah was preserved for nought;
Or the surviving eight were not designed
To people earth, and to restore their kind.

When humbly on the Royal Babe we gaze,
The manly lines of a majestic face
Give awful joy: 'tis paradise to look
On the fair frontispiece of Nature's book:
If the first opening page so charms the sight,
Think how th' unfolded volume will delight!
See how the venerable infant lies

In early pomp! how through the mother's eyes
The father's soul, with an undaunted view,
Looks out, and takes our homage as his due.
See on his future subjects how he smiles!
Nor meanly flatters, nor with craft beguiles;
But with an open face, as on his throne,
Assures our birthrights, and assumes his own.
Born in broad daylight, that th' ungrateful rout
May find no room for a remaining doubt.
Truth, which itself is light, does darkness shun,
And the true eaglet safely dares the sun.

Fain would the fiends have made a dubious birth,

Loath to confess the Godhead clothed in earth;
But sicken'd after all their baffled lies,
To find an heir-apparent in the skies:
Abandon'd to despair, still may they grudge,
And, owning not the Saviour, prove the Judge.
Not great Eneast stood in plainer day,
When the dark mantling mist dissolved away,
He to the Tyrians show'd his sudden face,
Shining with all his goddess-mother's grace,
For she herself had made his countenance bright,
Breathed honour on his eyes, and her own purple

light.

If our victorious Edward, as they say, Gave Wales a prince on that propitious day, Why may not years, revolving with his fate, Produce his like, but with a longer date? One who may carry to a distant shore The terror that his famed forefather bore. But why should James or his young hero stay For slight presages of a name or day; We need no Edward's fortune to adorn That happy moment when our Prince was born; Our Prince adorns this day; and ages hence Shall wish his birthday for some future prince.

Great Michael! prince of all the ethereal hosts, And whate'er inborn saints our Britain boasts; And thou the adopted patron of our isle, With cheerful aspects on this infant smile; The pledge of Heaven, which, dropping from above, Secures our bliss, and reconciles his love.

Enough of ills our dire rebellion wrought,
When to the dregs we drank the bitter draught;
Then airy atoms did in plagues conspire,
Nor did th' avenging angel yet retire,

But purged our still-increasing crimes with fire.
Then perjured plots, the still-impending test,
And worse-but charity conceals the rest.
Here stop the current of the sanguine flood;
Require not, gracious God! thy martyrs' blood;
But let their dying pangs, their living toil,
Spread a rich harvest through their native soil;
A harvest ripening for another reign,

Of which this royal Babe may reap the grain.
Enough of early saints one womb has given;
Enough increased the family of Heaven:
Let them for his and our atonement go,
And reigning bless'd above leave him to rule below.

Alluding to the temptations in the wilderness. t Virg. Eneid. 1.

Enough already has the year foreshow'd;
His wonted course the sea has overflow'd;
The meads were floated with a weeping spring,
And frightened birds in woods forgot to sing:
The strong-limb'd steed beneath his harness faints,
And the same shivering sweat his lord attaints.
When will the minister of wrath give o'er ?
Behold him at Arauna's thrashing floor!

He stops, and seems to sheath his flaming brand,
Pleased with burnt incense from our David's hand.
David has bought the Jebusite's abode,
And raised an altar to the living God.

Heaven, to reward him, makes his joys sincere ; No future ills nor accidents appear

To sully and pollute the sacred infant's year.
Five months to discord and debate were given;
He sanctifies the yet remaining seven.
Sabbath of months! henceforth in him be bless'd,
And prelude to the realm's perpetual rest!
Let his baptismal drops for us atone
Lustrations for offences not his own.
Let conscience, which is interest ill disguised,
In the same font be cleansed, and all the land
baptized.

Unnamed as yet, at least unknown to fame,
Is there a strife in heaven about his name,
Where every famous predecessor vies,
And makes a faction for it in the skies?
Or must it be reserved to thought alone?
Such was the sacred Tetragrammaton.
Things worthy silence must not be revealed;
Thus the true name of Rome was kept concealed,
To shun the spells and sorceries of those
Who durst her infant majesty oppose:

But when his tender strength in time shall rise
To dare ill tongues and fascinating eyes,
This isle, which hides the little thunderer's fame,
Shall be too narrow to contain his name;
Th' artillery of heaven shall make him known:
Crete could not hold the god when Jove was grown.
As Jove's increase, who from his brain was born,
Whom arms and arts did equally adorn,
Free of the breast was bred, whose milky taste
Minerva's name to Venus had debased;
So this imperial Babe rejects the food
That mixes monarchs' with plebeian blood:
Food that his inborn courage might control
Extinguish all the father in his soul,

And for his Estian race, and Saxon strain,
Might reproduce some second Richard's reign.
Mildness he shares from both his parents' blood;
But kings too tame are despicably good;
Be this the mixture of this regal child,
By nature manly, but by virtue mild.

Thus far the furious transport of the news
Had to prophetic madness fired the Muse;
Madness ungovernable, uninspired,
Swift to foretel whatever she desired.
Was it for me the dark abyss to tread,
And read the book which angels cannot read ?
How was I punish'd when the sudden blast,
The face of heaven and our young sun o'ercast!
Fame, the swift ill, increasing as she roll'd,
Disease, Despair, and Death, at three reprises told;
At three insulting strides she stalk'd the Town,
And, like Contagion, struck the loyal down.
Down fell the winnow'd wheat, but mounted high,
The whirlwind bore the chaff, and hid the sky.
Here black Rebellion shooting from below,
(As earth's gigantic brood by moments grow)
And here the sons of God are petrified with wo:
An apoplex of grief; so low were driven
The saints as hardly to defend their heaven.

As when pent vapours run their hollow round,
Earthquakes, which are convulsions of the ground,
Break hellowing forth, and no confinement brook,
Till the third settles what the former shook :
Such heavings had our souls, till slow and late,
Our life with his return'd, and faith prevail'd on
Fate;

By prayers the mighty blessing was implored,
To pray'rs was granted, and by prayers restored.
So, ere the Shunammitet a son conceived,
The prophet promised, and the wife believed.
A son was sent, the son so much desired,
But soon upon the mother's knees expired:
The troubled seer approach'd the mournful door,
Ran, pray'd, and sent his past'ral staff before,

Alluding to the passage in the first book of
Kings, chap. xxiv.
In the second book of Kings, chap. iv.